


What we really need

by Lothiriel84



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can pretend that I'm someone else. Talk to me. I'm sure it'll make you feel better." - Set in an undefinite post-Red John future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we really need

She curled up on the couch and switched the TV on – without even bothering to check which programs were being broadcasted that evening.

Anything would do. She just needed a distraction from her thoughts, that was all.

The movie she was half watching didn't help though. When the hero wrapped his arms around his lovely girlfriend and kissed her warmly she just switched the TV off and threw the remote on the coffee table. Damn.

Burying her face in the cushions she began to sob softly. Life wasn't fair, that was for sure.

Well, if she had to be honest life had very little to do with it. What had happened was her fault and her fault only after all.

It was her the one who'd suddenly decided to end their (precarious) relationship. The one who wasn't brave enough to take the risk of screwing it up.

Better safe than sorry – that's how the saying goes.

And Jane had already been through so much pain, even without her hurting him again.

Perhaps she had hurt him nonetheless.

She hoped he could forgive her – and forget.

(She actually hoped that things could have been different. But that was just a dream, she knew it perfectly well.)

They'd been quite happy together. Sort of, anyway.

He'd spent his evenings in her apartment (on the very couch where she was sitting now – but she'd better _not_ think about it). They'd watched TV, shared ice creams, drank tea.

He'd made her laugh, she'd made him feel safe.

They'd almost never kissed – just sat there cuddling, that was all.

Her hand would draw patterns on his back, while his hand would thread through her hair.

And now it was over.

She just couldn't help it. She simply freaked out whenever he brought up the subject of marriage and kids – even if he'd actually mentioned it in passing only a couple of times or so.

In the end she'd come to the conclusion that he deserved far much better than this.

Didn't want to lose his friendship merely because she was too afraid of commitment.

Better to apply damage limitation and go back to being just good friends.

(Admitted that it was possible. She wasn't entirely sure of that.)

So here she was now. Alone in her apartment, crying over spilled milk.

When the doorbell rang she just ignored it. She was in no mood to talk to anybody right now.

The unknown visitor didn't give up though. He kept on pressing the bell until she grew so annoyed that she bolted to the door.

Her angry words froze on her lips as she saw Jane standing on her doorstep – offering her an apologetic look.

She sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Patrick. I don't think this is a good idea."

"Jane." He quickly corrected her.

"What?"

"I'm not here as your ex-almost-boyfriend. Right now I'm just a concerned friend."

Her brow furrowed slightly. "You're here to cheer me up about dumping _you_?"

"Sort of. May I come in?"

She felt too tired to have an argument on the threshold of her own apartment. So stepped aside and allowed him to settle on her couch.

(She didn't sit down next to him though. Just stood in the middle of the room, keeping her arms folded as if to prevent herself from doing something incredibly… stupid.)

"Lisbon. Please."

"Jane, don't…"

"Sh. It's okay. A little talk won't harm us – we're friends after all. Aren't we?"

"Yeah, but…"

"No buts tonight. Do sit down."

With another sigh she surrendered and just did as asked.

"Don't want you to be sad, Lisbon."

"Jane. It's me the one who decided to split up, remember?"

"I do. And yet I can tell that you're not happy about it at all."

"I though you weren't here to try and convince me to get back together."

"I'm not."

"So what?"

He searched her gaze carefully. "I want you to be happy."

"Jane…"

"You can pretend that I'm someone else. Talk to me. I'm sure it'll make you feel better."

She almost chuckled at that. "This would be just crazy – even for the two of us."

"Never mind."

Her head dropped ever so slightly. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"No, I mean it. It's just… I want _you_ to be happy, Patrick. And I can't give you what you need."

"I never asked for anything."

"We both know that you need a woman who can give you a family. A woman that can be a good wife, and the mother of your children. I'm not that woman."

He raised his eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"Patrick, please. I'm being serious. I can't live with the thought of depriving you of what you'd deserve."

His hand reached out for hers and held it gently. "I don't deserve anything. And what I actually need is you. Can't you see that?"

Abruptly she rose and started pacing in front of him.

"I really wish that I could be the right woman for you. That we could get married and have kids together. That things could be… different between us."

A moment later she felt his arms wrapping around her. "My silly little woman."

She stifled a sob – desperately struggling to resist the warmth of his embrace.

"Lisbon. Teresa. I promise I'll be fine with whatever you choose to do. However…"

"However?"

"I have a feeling that you desire those things as much as I do. You're just scared, that's all."

The lump in her throat suddenly threatened to choke her.

She could almost picture their day-to-day life together. Waking up in the morning to find her _husband_ (hopefully) still sleeping beside her. Making him tea. Kissing him against the counter of their kitchen.

She could even see herself carrying his child. Desk duty would be an awful bore, but perhaps it was worth it. If only to see a golden-haired boy trotting merrily around their living room.

Turning into his arms she buried her face in the fabric of his vest.

He was right. She really wanted all those things. No matter how scary was the prospect that almost _everything_ could go wrong.

Why should she give up her chance – _their_ chance – at happiness after all?

When she felt his fingers tilting up her chin she closed her eyes in anticipation.

His kiss was slow, affectionate. He took his time conveying his feelings just through the brush of his lips against hers.

She vaguely wondered whether it would be appropriate to ask Van Pelt to be her bridesmaid.


End file.
